


Magic Fingers

by planetofthehats



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetofthehats/pseuds/planetofthehats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There aren't many things left that can make Dean relax. What would happen if Castiel suddenly appeared while he was engaging in one of them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Fingers

Dean had a few surefire ways to relax himself. Only a few, but they had always been extremely effective. Pie. Whiskey. Burgers. And sex. He liked to think of himself as a simple creature. Good food and a good lay and he was all…good.

Truth was they were nothing but delaying tactics, fighting back the inevitable darkness of his lower moods, the memories he was working with all he had to repress. Before he’d gone to hell, his methods been enough to keep the darkness away indefinitely. But now they only worked for ten minutes at best, if they worked at all. 

When they’d checked into this particular motel room, Dean had spotted the Magic Fingers unit attached to the bed immediately, going back to the front desk to get as many quarters as the tired old woman could offer him. This was one of the things that had been enough before, maybe it would be again.

He got back and settled himself down on the bed with a cheesy grin, laying down and sliding a quarter in the Magic Fingers box. These were getting harder and harder to find, and he had banished Sam from the room so he could properly enjoy it. Well, more accurately Sam had seen the way Dean stared hungrily at the Magic Fingers and wisely beat it. For now, Dean didn’t mind that his little brother was tip toeing around him like he was about to crack.

With a loud, theatric sigh, he let his eyes roll back into his head as the bed started vibrating underneath him, letting it work through the hard knots that made up most of his back and shoulder muscles. He pushed his shoes off with his toes and threw an arm over his eyes, pretending he believed the bed could actually rock him to a dreamless sleep.

——-

Castiel had paused on his flight for no real reason he could understand, drawn to the old, quiet bench next to a disused running path. It was set back away from a large recreational area, and Castiel could hear the sounds of humans as they moved through their lives behind him, filtering through the thick stand of trees blocking off the path from the human’s sight. It still surprised him that humans couldn’t tell what he was simply by looking. Their sight was limited, but they were all so proud of it, so sure they were correct even when there were no clear orders to follow. It was fascinating.

What was even more fascinating was the things they did to fill their ‘free time’. They seemed to know what they needed from it, finding food, friendship, exercise, or solitude. Often there appeared to be no purpose to their activities other than to provide themselves with pleasure or solace. Castiel certainly spent times on his own, but it was usually in pursuit of a greater goal. While waiting for oil to be consecrated properly in Jersualem he had a fondness for travelling to more prominent places of worship and watching as humans struggled to connect with the divine. Waiting for an appointed time to meet Dean and Sam, he busied himself with further research on their next threat, or receiving further orders through revelation.

But this was new for him. He had seen the bench, the green, near-silence that surrounded it, and stopped for no other reason than because it seemed like a nice thing to do. He was surprised by himself, and perched awkwardly on the edge of the bench, wondering if he should commit to the impulse. Perhaps he had been drawn here by a small voice from God? But that was ridiculous. He would not be contacted directly, it would come through the appropriate chains of command. It was an…almost human whim that had driven him to stop, and he remained because he found the pause was easing him somewhat.

The distant sound of humanity was behind him, and the evidence of the creative prowess of his Father was before him in the greenery, the growing-over running path and the warm sun filtering through the leaves. It was pleasing to be here in this spot, and Castiel folded his hands in front of him, happy to let that feeling sink in.

He enjoyed observing his Father’s creation, be it human or the greenery of the Earth. Some of his brethren preferred the sweeping expanse of the cosmos to prove their Father’s power, but Castiel found the smaller, intricate details of this world much more compelling. The delicate veins of a broad leaf, the web of synaptic connections that somehow created a human personality. These were more miraculous to Castiel, and he didn’t mind confessing it, as prosaic as it made him appear to some of his brethren.

His confidence in his Father’s creation had only been reenforced when he had found Dean Winchester in Hell, and pulled him back to the surface. Dean’s soul had been a broken, cowering thing, hissing at him in fear, his form half drenched in the blood of his most recent victim. He’d begun to shift into a demon already, his soul turning further from human, and the sight of a holy thing made him recoil and burn just as it would any other damned soul.

Castiel had seen the strong core of him, looked right through him and pinned him with his eyes. He had been filled with the divine purity of purpose that was always with him, and now it almost rang out with the power of the actions he was taking. He reached straight through the twisted, almost insubstantial thing that was Dean’s soul, and grasped the most essential parts of him, the strongest will, the commitment to destroying evil, the memories that would make up his time in heaven when he found a rightful place there, and he had torn them viciously away from all that Hell had done to him.

Scars had bled through, memories that could not be erased, that would help shape Dean further into who destiny proclaimed him to be, and Castiel would have wept for those had the rightness of his orders not burned through him. As his brethren fought back the legions of Hell around him, he raised Dean Winchester from perdition, building his body around him, merely following his Father’s pattern, the most perfect version of it the tainted Earth would allow.

He had knit together Dean’s bones as his Father had done, had wrapped them in muscle, sculpted every curve of his skin. As he lifted Dean from Hell he restored all of his Father’s work that had been destroyed, and been privileged to be part of the miracle of His creation. He had placed each freckle on Dean’s skin, returned the hairs to his legs and arms, coloured the hair of his head to a light brown, re-created each fleck of green and brown that pigmented his eyes. 

He’d never been as close to his Father as when he was rebuilding Dean Winchester from dust, restoring his soul to a clean body, a new body.

He realised he’d been sitting in the clearing for a long time, and wondered when he had gotten lost in the memory of restoring Dean. He frowned, concerned that so many of his thoughts turned to the elder Winchester brother so frequently. He was protecting them, true, but it seemed he thought of Dean much more readily than he thought of Sam. And it wasn’t the way a protecting angel usually thought of their charge, it seemed. Too much of his remembering saving Dean had to do with the thought of smoothing his hand over the fresh skin of Dean’s body with reverent wonder, feeling it warm beneath his life-restoring touch. He remembered intimately the dusting of freckles covering Dean’s shoulders, the sharp lines leading from his hips down to between his legs, the dark hair there curling when Castiel had restored it, framing something that usually held no interest for the angel at all.

The specifics of human sex were not at all a mystery to Castiel. He knew the physical act of it well, it was impossible for angels who watched humans not to see that. But the emotional implications of it were something he did not understand, nor could he possibly understand the actual experience of participating in it. He’d never considered it to be something he wanted. Angels viewed it as the ultimate in fraternisation, in getting too close to their human charges. For all that they were supposed to honour humans and protect them, according to their Father, angels held themselves apart as completely separate beings, another race, too much for a human to every truly see and therefore almost completely removed.

Castiel was already being questioned regarding his attachment to the Winchesters. Uriel in particular seemed concerned for him in that regard. To be thinking of Dean Winchester in the way he was thinking of him now was dangerous, another attachment that would make it difficult when it came time for Dean to perform the role destiny assigned him in the apocalypse. 

And yet Castiel was drawn to the memories of Dean’s body, just as inexorably as he’d been drawn to this place with the old bench and bright trees and soft human sounds. He furrowed his brow and tilted his head slightly, deciding that here in this place at least, he could commit to the thoughts and enjoy them as he was enjoying the nature around him. After all, hadn’t he just decided that Dean Winchester was a miracle of his Father’s worthy of further thought and consideration?

—-

Dean began following the muscle memory that had been nagging at him, the movements mechanical and almost grudging. He really did just want to sleep, but to pass up the opportunity a Sam-free room and a Magic Fingers bed afforded him seemed stupid.

Besides, the bed wasn’t lulling him into sleep, and the arm over his eyes had begun to feel heavy and warm as he started to sweat. The memories were returning, he could feel them pushing at the edges of his mind. He grunted, determined to ward them off again, and unbuttoned his jeans, barely tugging them down. He knew exactly how far down his hips they needed to be for his hands to get where they wanted to go, while still keeping them high enough that if he heard Sam turning the key in their door he’d be able to tug them up and tuck himself away before he was no longer alone.

He’d done this a lot.

——

Castiel felt the warmth of the sun slowly working its way through his skin, the fabric of his trench coat and suit warming as well, feeding more heat into his skin. If he stayed much longer it might begin to be uncomfortable. Well, it would have had he been human. He could sense the heat building in his skin under the sunlight, but felt it almost as if it were an empathic connection to another being. He understood his body would be getting hot, but experienced none of the mental discomfort that the sensation would normally create for a human.

When things happened to his vessel’s body, Castiel felt it second hand and dimly, only because he lacked the mental connections to the vessel. When it experienced pain he examined the sensation, recognised it, but he himself, the pure core of his being, didn’t feel it. Likewise, when his true self felt pain or was wounded, it didn’t necessarily register or show itself on his vessel. It was as if the two inhabited the exact same space while somehow barely touching each other at the edges.

That’s why it was odd when the continued thoughts of the miracle of Dean Winchester’s resurrected body caused a reaction in both his vessel and his true self.

In his true self it registered as a bright flash of something warm and pleasant, spreading out until it suffused his being. As though he had suddenly tripped some failsafe, made some connection he hadn’t made before, and his self was registering the results. In his vessel the warmth pooled in his stomach, spreading to his lower back and sliding down like warm honey, slow moving and somehow profound.

The concert of his true self and his vessel stunned him so much he felt his lips parting in surprise, his eyes narrowing as he cocked his head and looked down, examining the results on his vessel.

It was a deep, heady realisation when he saw the physical evidence beneath his trousers. His erection was barely beginning, was slow and unlikely to cause him trouble, his surprise killing the mood somewhat. He wanted to examine it more closely, but it felt improper to do it so close to a park full of humans, even though he was obscured by the trees.

It was oddly thrilling to think that the earth was able to reach through his vessel and touch his true self like it had just done. In what seemed like such a small moment things had shifted, and Castiel realised he was not removed from his Father’s creation. His brethren were right, he had been affected by the Winchesters. But what had just happened to him, the concert of his vessel and his true self, didn’t leave him with any sense of guilt. In this place it almost felt like benediction, like an insight into something profound he had never been able to access.

It was, however, unsettling. He had paused in this place on his way to checking in on the Winchesters, and he wasn’t sure of the human courtesies in this situation. Although somehow he didn’t think appearing to Dean and telling him he had stirred something that had never been brushed upon might be a bit cryptic, even for him. And the thought of saying out loud what had just happened gave him a feeling of utter panic.

He blinked and launched himself into the air, taking a longer route on his flight towards the Winchesters, letting the cold air of the upper spheres of the atmosphere strip away the heady rush of warmth the earth and Dean Winchester had sparked within him.

——

The way Dean had lived his life, there weren’t many habits to the pattern of his everyday. So the few habits he’d managed to amass were doubled in intensity. When he lay in a bed or stood in a shower or crouched in the backseat of the Impala, pumping his fist over his cock in quick, urgent strokes, he always thought of the same women. Starting with the girl he’d lost his virginity to, and ending with whoever he had been with most recently. Some he lingered on longer, like Cassie and Lisa, but he always kept moving forward through the long line.

He was getting close to his climax, starting to jerk his hips upwards into his fist a little bit, his head thrown back and the muscles tightening in his neck. The heady sensations were overtaking him quickly, the Magic Fingers of the bed working their way through his body as well. He groaned as he remembered Melanie the car sales girl, her lips wrapped tight around his cock, shooting him a filthy look upwards with her bright blue eyes.

Suddenly and without warning, the blue eyes turned darker, the look someone purer and more intense than anything Dean had ever encountered before. With a cry of surprise and sharp arousal, he broke and came to the imagination of the serious, hard face of Castiel sliding over his cock.

The blissful moment of absolute mental silence disappeared too fast, and in the aftermath Dean felt shaky and hollow, and still too surprised to do anything properly about either of them. What the hell was Castiel doing in his spank bank?

That was not in the routine, dammit.

——

Castiel appeared in Dean’s motel room just as suddenly as he always had, and given how often Dean participated in this particular activity, it was a wonder Cas hadn’t come across him like this before. Castiel took in everything in a millisecond, the slight touch of sex scenting the air, the humming vibrations of the Magic Fingers, Dean’s slightly mussed hair and still unsteady breathing. His eyes flashed to the only exposed part of Dean’s body, completely unsure how to react to the sight of his cock slowly softening and shining with come, Dean’s hand resting just slightly next to it. Dean was still completely clothed except for the slight way his jeans were tugged down, and the still moment only lasted as long as it took for Dean to register Cas’s presence in the room.

“JESUS, Cas!” 

Dean scrambled off the bed, tugging at his pants urgently and wondering for an addled moment if the second of him jerking off to the thought of Castiel was the equivalent of a prayer.

Castiel swallowed loudly, completely unsure of what to do. He simply followed Dean’s example and turned around, waiting for Dean to indicate what would be the right course of action.

——

The right course of action appeared to be completely ignoring the incident. Dean told Cas in no uncertain terms that he was never to drop in on him while he was having a bit of…special alone time. And Cas apologised for intruding, promising that it was not his intent.

And that would have been that. Except that Castiel’s open mouthed, slightly yearning expression when he’d seen Dean barely naked on the bed stayed strongly with Dean, and made its way more frequently into his mind when he jerked off. He fought off the images at first, feeling rude and confused, but after three or four days of abstaining from one of his only small joys, he decided it was the lesser of two evils to simply let the thoughts happen. It was worth it for the moment of silence it caused in his mind.

Castiel found more and more reasons to pause in silent places on his travels as well, finding himself struck constantly by the flushed, sated expression on Dean’s face, the obscene sight of his wet cock resting against his partially unzipped jeans. He became slowly addicted to the earthy rush of heat it caused his vessel and his true self.

Once, finally, sitting on a broad, warm stone overlooking the Grand Canyon, Castiel tentatively laid a hand over his hardening cock, pushing at it through the fabric and making a small, gravelly sound deep in his throat. He rubbed himself through the fabric of his trousers, exploring the sensations tentatively, unsure of what to do, or even if he wanted to do it. The pressure and tug of his hand through the fabric wasn’t enough to get him off, but he thought perhaps it was simply a flaw in his vessel and self’s connection, and gave up after a moment. Vaguely disappointed at the thought that the warm sensations of budding arousal might be all he was capable of feeling.


End file.
